Goodnight
by Haylis
Summary: Drabbles, short stories and what else. Without darkness, there wouldn't be light. Hope is light, the dark hides fright. About Dr. Spencer Reid.
1. I'm Not Dead

A/N: Originally posted on live journal, felt like posting it here, too. B.t.w., my account is 'Ildoza'. (: - And this will be a series of one shots, all based on P!nk songs.

I'm Not Dead

But it feels like it. It feels like there isn't a meaning anymore – not that there ever was a certain meaning per se; he's never been one to wonder over things like that. But before it wasn't necessary either. Sure, there were times in high school where he wasn't _happy,_ and there was even that one time…

Even then, though, he felt like… well, he felt like living. He had his mum, and he took care of her.

Now? All he can think about is his next needle, his next hit, when he can get _**fucking**_ high again. Because it's really all he has left. Sure, once there was a time when he never would have thought about it. Never. He knew all the facts and the statistics, and of course he still does, but now he also know how it feels. How great (fantastic!) it feels, and sure there are times when he's in doubt, but he can't regret taking those bottles from Tobias.

Tobias wouldn't have minded. In fact, Reid is pretty sure that he would have approved it.

There are times when he's even happy that Tobias kidnapped him. Without that advent he wouldn't have known the pleasurable feeling sticking a needle into his body could bring.

He still feels dead though. But maybe it's just because he's in heaven.


	2. Unwind

A/N: Wrote this some time ago. I would've continued it, added some more description, but I haven't felt like doing it before now. And now I can't. So this is just how it is (:

Unwind

It's not Tobias, it's not the drugs and it's not the nightmares. Today it's Elle.

No one talks about her anymore. No one even cares, and he

(Is that what they are going to do with him, if he can't kick the drugs, if he can't keep his job, if he ends up as fucked as his mother?)

misses her. Sure, Prentiss is fine (Forget the fact that he snapped at her, and that she don't know him at all) but it wasn't her who he failed to help. And she isn't Elle. He needs to talk to her. Not Prentiss, not Gideon, but Elle. Only Elle.

Yes, that's what he needs.

Someone knocks at Elle Greenaway's door, a Saturday night at 10 PM. She takes a knife from her kitchen (she no longer owns a gun) and slowly, with her heart in a horse race, walks towards it. No one ever knocks at her door, without calling first. It's a rare occasion that somebody knocks at all.

She feels like she's 5 again, and afraid of monsters under the bed (Or a Fisher King in her house, but she tries not to think about that anymore. Monsters under beds are safer.) Her dad used to check for the monsters; both under the bed and in the closet, but then one day a monster came and took him instead. Two years passed before she dared to look for herself. She doesn't look anymore.

(She's learned that no matter what, monsters always win - one way or another)

With the knife raised in her slightly trembling right hand, she opens the door with her left. If she had had the thought that one person from the BAU would be at her doorstep, she would have guessed Morgan, or maybe Hotch. Hotch, if she was getting arrested.

Then again, maybe Garcia should have been her first guest. But not Reid. Reid would have been next last, only before Gideon. Reid was kind, but he was shy. She concludes that something is wrong with her profiler skills, because Reid is the one standing at her doorstep. Not Hotch to arrest her, not Morgan she once went on what was supposed to be a holiday with, not Garcia who could find her address and phone number quicker than she could remember it herself, and not JJ, sweet, kind, _caring_ Jennifer,

She almost drops the knife. "Reid?" She discreetly puts the knife away, laying it at the table behind the door. Behind a vase.

He nods. "Elle" He says, but nothing else. After a moment of pure bewilderment, she steps aside to let him in. He does, and he smiles. It doesn't fit the situation. Not that Reid doesn't smile, but… He doesn't fit his own profile. And that's probably saying something, coming from her.

Okay, she needs to know what's happening. "What's going on? Why are you here?"

"It's been 6 months, a week and about 156 hours and I still haven't visited you… and I missed you." He shrugs a little, as if it's not really relevant.

"The others haven't visited me." Is that accusing she hears in her own voice? What did she expect; that Hotch suddenly jumped out from a bush and told her that killing was okay, and oh right, here was a gift and a chocolate cake, too, as an extra surprise? They caught killers, they didn't give them gifts. Or jobs.

(Or friendships.)

"No, I know, I felt like it." His words are a bit of a rushed mess, but they always are, were.

"Felt like it? Missed me? Reid, I may not be a profiler anymore, and you may have an IQ of 187, doesn't mean that I'm brain death." She remembers seeing her dad that way. He would never call her Peanut again.

"Being 'brain death' is actually the irreversible-"

"Reid. I know what brain death is." Yeah, she definitely knows.

"Oh, right. Sorry." He says sheepishly. She feels a tad bit bad, but it's not like she hasn't done it before. Like the other team members haven't. (But she's not on the team, not any longer)

"So what? The team isn't good enough for you any longer? You've come to join the outlaws?" She didn't mean to say it like that, but it just kind of slips out of her mouth. It's not… It's not really an admittance of guilt. Right?

Hotch would think so. Of course Reid isn't Hotch, but Reid's reaction still surprises her. He just laughs (a little nervous laugh, but still) and says: "Yeah, kind of. Something like that. A bit."

It relaxes her. She can't say it doesn't.

"You know, if Hotch could get _really_ angry he would be angry that you're visiting me."

"Why would he?"

"He thinks I did it."

"But still – It's not his choice who I visit and who I don't."

Pause.

"Do you think I did it?"

"He _could_ have had that gun. Even if he didn't, he could have. If we had gone by the plan, maybe it would have ended up with him dead anyway. Or maybe another girl would have been hurt. I'm not saying – if you did do it – that it was right, I'm not saying you had any right to do it, even if you saved another girl, but it's… Of course it's your fault, but it's not just your fault, you know? I could've helped you. Hotch could've helped you. William Blake once said that 'Active Evil is better than Passive Good.' So it's – it's pretty much everyone's fault, you know? We didn't stop it. We can't stop everything, but… We can't just blame you. I can't. Hotch has even said, once or twice, that if pushed to our limits, we are all capable of the worst of things. If one take that as truth, then we really don't have a choice, do we? We can't control the things that push us; we can only control our selves. And if it's true we're all capable of – of the worst of things, then, if we get pushed enough, we'll snap. The only differences are how much it takes to make us snap, and –… My point is we can all make wrong choices, like when I – I'm sure there are a lot of people out there who have done worse things than that. Even if it's pretty bad. If you did do it, that is."

He wonders if he's really talking about her.

"Wow, you still rambles like you used to." He nods, and looks at her coffee table (It's rosewood he thinks, or maybe ebony and it's defiantly old – maybe it was her grandmothers, he remembers that she once told about a grandmother) and Elle sighs, stands up, and goes to get the coffee.

When she returns she also brings a deck of cards. They play a game of fish in silence.


End file.
